On July 10, 2000 Eric dropped me at the airport so that I could catch an early morning flight for business. He then drove several hours to the country with the intention of making an early start on visiting some important accounts. At that time, Eric was employed as an Area Sales Manager for a forklift distributor, and would often make country trips as part of his work. It was 9:45am when his accident occurred. According to witnesses, the police report and the attending country doctor, Eric was approaching the intersection at a speed of about 40km an hour. He failed to see two “give way” signs until he was practically in the intersection and just about to collide with a road train traveling at 110km per hour. He braked heavily, but it was obviously too late. Evidently the car then spun 3 times and Eric was ejected through the passenger side door that had been ripped off during impact. He landed 30 meters from where the vehicle came to rest.

It was 2:45pm when I received “the call” and nearly 3 hours before I saw Eric in Emergency. What I saw resembled more of a swollen, bloodied monster than my husband. For the third time in 3 hours I was told that it didn’t look good, and that the next 24-48 hours would decide whether he would survive. It would probably be an understatement to say that I was in deep shock. What I felt that day is difficult to articulate, but I think that terrified and panicked comes pretty close. That feeling lasted throughout the following weeks and months.

Days later I found the courage to ask the neurosurgical team for more information. They told me that Eric had sustained a very severe diffuse brain injury visible on initial CT by way of multiple small inoperable areas of swelling and hemorrhaging in the left temporal, right parietal and bi frontal lobes. It was expected that if he lived, he would sustain severe disabilities or pass through coma into a “semi conscious” state. I dispelled this information, not fully understanding it and convinced that Eric would either live or die. I was also informed that Eric had also been hypoxic for nearly 90 minutes following the injury while a clear airway was being established due to a collapsed lung. His initial coma score was 4. He maintained this score for 3 weeks until he began flexing his limbs and opening his eyes. At around 4 weeks post injury his tracheotomy was removed and he began to develop sleep/wake cycles, showed general signs of visual tracking, but still no definite communication or command following. During week 8 he said "yes" 3 times and parroted a statement back to a nurse. A “PEG” was inserted to allow feeding without a nasogastric tube. By week 11 he had developed some "automatic" movements with his left arm - he started to scratch his nose or brush hair out of his eyes. He had stopped speaking. Unfortunately he didn’t find another form of communication (e.g. thumbs up for yes, or blink once for yes). His visual tracking improved. He battled (like most survivors of severe TBI) with pneumonia, infection, seizures and increased tone. At 11.5 weeks post injury he was transferred (after several hot arguments with various doctors and a number of strongly worded emails to local politicians) to a rehabilitation facility only 20 minutes from home (actually, the ONLY rehab facility in South Australia - you guys in the States don’t know how lucky you are).

At 6 months post injury Eric had made only tiny gains. He had developed more "automatic" movements, predominantly with his left arm. These movements included scratching his nose, eyes, head, taking objects when you hand them to him, spontaneous movement of his lower limbs and self feeding if the spoon was loaded and placed in his hand. He was also able to “play” with objects. For example, when presented with his electric shaver, he turned it on and off and he was able to open and close the button down pockets on his shorts. Sadly, he was still not communicating or consistently following commands.

I’ve been with Eric nearly every day since his accident, and every day I’ve asked him, “do you know who I am?”. On April 6, 2001, nearly 9 months post injury, Eric responded with a “yep”. That was 2 weeks ago. Eric is now whispering responses and has started to construct small sentences. He has also starting to show appropriate facial expressions - the other day when I reminded him to keep chewing his breakfast, he brushed my hand away from his face, scowled and said, “I am”. What can I say? Wife’s nag! Eric knows that I’m his wife, he remembers him home and can recognise close family and friends both in person and in photographs as well as consistently being able to pick himself out of a photographs. I’ve asked him if he knows what happened to him or if he would like to know, and he doesn’t answer me. I think that one will take some time.

It’s now Easter and Eric has just spent 3 days at home. How great it was to have him home and in his own bed. I never thought that I would cope (Eric is 6ft 4in and weighs 90kg), but I have and I am. I still love him to pieces and now have renewed hope that he will one day regain some independence.

Three months ago I’d almost accepted the possibility that Eric would never be able to communicate. I never gave up hope, but didn’t want to be unrealistic either (yes, hope can coexist with realism). I’m truly amazed at what has transpired and so relieved that he will eventually be able to express his wishes without us having to second guess him. I’m not sure that I believe in miracles, but know that Erics story is a rare one.

I have only a little advice for travelers of this road. Try not to get angry at the system or at other peoples insensitivity (especially that shown by family members - it’s amazing how self absorbed grieving people become) and find someone who has been through a similar experience. I was lucky enough to get in contact with a very kind couple half way across the world who have given me a great deal of support and advice. The road is terrifying and sad, but it doesn’t have to be lonely. I feel for any of you that have either just learned of your loved ones injury, are currently traveling this road or whom have survived this tragic, frightening, frustrating and challenging event. I would love to talk to anyone in a similar situation.

Email Rhoda (Eric's Wife)